


dieu m'a donné des mains

by angelsaves



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: Bathroom Sex, F/F, Hate Sex, Podfic Welcome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-09 17:01:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20998271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsaves/pseuds/angelsaves
Summary: Rhea encounters Marcia in the ladies' room at Logan's surprise party.





	dieu m'a donné des mains

**Author's Note:**

> title is from vianney's "je te déteste"

Rhea feels like she's doing a pretty good job covering up how rattled she is after her conversation with Marcia, right up until she fumbles a canapé and gets it all over her hands. Well, there goes that. She turns her brightest smile on the suits she was chatting with and excuses herself to the ladies'. 

She scrubs the caviar and whatever-the-fuck off her hands, and then motion in the mirror catches her eye. It's Marcia, standing behind her. Great.

"Hi," Rhea says, deciding to brazen it out. "How's the evening treating you?"

"Pas mal," Marcia says. The shrug she adds is so Gallic it hurts. "And you?"

"It's good," Rhea says. "Real good." She dries her hands and looks up at Marcia, still standing there. "Can I help you with something?"

Marcia looks at her consideringly for a very long time. Rhea tilts her chin up and waits her out. Finally, Marcia says, "Perhaps."

Rhea raises her eyebrows. "Well?"

A step closer, then another, and Marcia has her bracketed against the sink. "Is it only powerful men who arouse you?" she asks, somewhere between a growl and a purr. "Or did you bend over for Nan, as well?"

"That's a very personal question," Rhea says, heart racing. "Can I ask your -- ah -- interest?"

Marcia smirks. "I think you can guess. You're supposed to be smart, no?"

"That's what they say." Rhea lifts her hand and touches Marcia's cheek with the backs of her fingers. "What do you think?"

"I have not made up my mind." She backs up, and Rhea feels a rush of cold air all down her front. "Shall we --?" Marcia nods towards a stall.

"Yes," Rhea says. "Let's shall."

Marcia actually smiles, which startles Rhea so much that she doesn't move for a moment, and opens the stall door, gesturing for Rhea to precede her.

Rhea goes in, and before she can turn around, Marcia takes her by her bare shoulders and leans in to kiss her. It's a very good kiss. Not that Rhea had expected a bad one, but she'd braced herself for harshness, and what she gets is -- not that. Marcia's kiss is lush, and slow, and just -- head-spinningly good.

Then Marcia palms her cunt right through her dress, and there's the harshness: not slow at all, this, but filthily good. Rhea wants to moan, but she manages to turn it into a sort of choked-off gasp against Marcia's mouth at the last second.

"Hmm," Marcia says. "Will this crumple, do you suppose, or stain?" She pinches a fold of silver silk.

"I --" Rhea swallows. "I can't say I'm terribly concerned at the moment."

"Oh, but you should be," Marcia says, and bites Rhea's neck, very gently, where her hair has fallen forward to expose it. "How do you want to seem to my husband, later?"

"That's --"

"Shall I lift up your skirt, Rhea? Or touch you through it?" Marcia presses.

Rhea closes her eyes and thinks about it. "Lift my skirt," she decides. Wrinkles will be less of a giveaway than a wet mark. "...Please."

Marcia chuckles. "So polite." She rucks up Rhea's skirt and rubs her clit with a knuckle, just this side of too hard. "Tell me what you want," she says, doing it again.

"Your fingers," Rhea says, arching her back. "In my cunt."

"Oh, very nice." Marcia obliges her, driving deep.

"Why are you doing this?" Rhea asks, even though her body is screaming for her to just enjoy it.

"What do you think I want?" Marcia asks in return. Her hips press against Rhea's ass, her fingers fuck into Rhea's cunt, her breath is hot on Rhea's neck.

"I don't know," Rhea says, frustrated. "I can't get a read on you."

"That is how I like it."

"Fuck," Rhea mutters, squirming to get Marcia's fingertips where she needs them. "Of course."

Marcia laughs again, softly. "There are a few choices," she says. "Perhaps I want to see the appeal you hold for Logan for myself. Or perhaps I wish to hold this above your head."

"Perhaps," Rhea repeats. She's getting close to coming, and words are getting slippery in her mouth.

"Or maybe I want to do this." Marcia pulls her fingers abruptly out of Rhea and smooths her dress back down around her legs.

"You --" Rhea grits her teeth.

Marcia pats her shoulder with her wet hand. "Me," she says. "And don't you forget."

_That,_ Rhea thinks as Marcia exits the stall, _will not be a problem._


End file.
